Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

Chapter 3

That night I dreamed of her. Camilla.

Her head is lying against her pillow. She's followed me. Her hair is splayed out in front of her. Her eyes open, and her mouth begins to move. I clap my hands over my ears. I don't want to hear her.

I wake in terror, hoping I haven't screamed aloud. The dots of stars outside my apartment window are the only light; there's no moon I can see. My breathing is harsh in the silence, and the mattress crackles softly beneath me, rubbing its thin fingers against my back.

The stars turned, and somewhere the moon crept across the sky. When my eyes drag closed again, she's still waiting for me, still lying in bed, her face smiling. Of course, she was. She always smiled at me.

I wake sandy-eyed, my limbs heavy and dull. I run my hands over my face, trying to wake myself up. I shuffle off the bed, walk to the bathroom, and splash my face with cold water. I grab the remote from the living room coffee table and turn on the TV, flipping to the news channel.

Rick Carl is discussing the weather, so I return to the bathroom. I change into some comfortable sweatpants and an oversized shirt. I recognized the logo; it was one of Camilla's favorite shirts.

Why do I still have it?

I thought I burned everything that I even thought she touched. Guess not. I shrug and keep it on, too lazy to change it for another t-shirt. I want to sleep again, but if I try, she'll return in more floods of memories. I shook my head and looked at the TV again. I watched Nancy Parker talk about the cabin and how a couple was found several meters away.

"At 7 o'clock last night, a woman frantically called 911 after finding pools of blood on her carpet and two chairs in her living room with chains and ropes nearby. A single pointer finger was found outside her front door in the grass, and two bodies were found a couple of meters nearby. They were later identified as Abby and Roman Frost, associated with multiple robberies, murders, assassinations, and rings of CP and prostitutes. They have no leads for who did this, but I would say whoever did this was doing the world a favor. What about you, Jim?"

"Nancy, I highly agree. Whoever is doing this is really doing the world a favor-"

I change the channel before I hear Jim talk about me doing the world a favor. I know I'm doing the world a blessing, but I don't want the world to think I'm doing them a favor; I'm doing the people who have been wronged. This whole thing isn't for the world.

I lean my head against the back of the couch. Every day is the same; I'm so tired. I eat, sleep, watch TV, work, and sleep more. It's been like that for the past month now. I do side jobs so I can pay for rent, but not even the people who hire me keep me for long; they fire me because they're hiring someone new, someone... better.

I've learned throughout my life that there will always be someone better than me. For jobs, for relationships, everything. I noticed it very early on. When I would raise my hand first and say the most logical answer in school, someone would always call out the more "correct" answer or the answer the teacher liked. Or when I would finally score for my kickball team, but then someone would score even higher. There will always be someone better than me.

I shake my head, ridding the thoughts from my brain. I didn't want to think about that shit ever again. The only thing I felt like doing was napping, so I laid down on my couch, snatched a blanket from the back of one of my chairs, and turned on a cartoon channel to fall asleep, and that's when the horrible memories all came flooding back.

It's still morning, the sun is still out, and I can see it peeking over the tops of the other apartment buildings. I look at the time on my phone, 10:00 a.m.

My god, can't this day go by any faster? It feels like everything is in slow motion. I want to go to a bar even though I've never drunk. No one knows I was the one who killed those two low lives. But I shouldn't risk it.